


The Quest for the Major's Truth

by Shorina



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 20:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4578618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles' reaction to something he alone observes between two wounded soldiers makes Hawkeye and B.J. set off on a quest to find out the reason for his unexpected behaviour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosied/gifts).



> Thanks go to my wonderful friend and beta. You know who you are.

It was one of those days one would rather forget but found one couldn't. One of those days that ingrained themselves on one's brain.

MASH 4077 was under fire, the origin as of yet unclear but Corporal Klinger was onto finding out while they still had a functioning phone connection. Mortar shells struck too close to the OR for comfort, if comfort was the right word for a room full of torn and ripped bodies being patched up as best as possible. Thankfully for the wounded, the best possible was a rather high standard as all three operating surgeons, Captains Benjamin “Hawkeye” Pierce and B.J. “Beej” Hunnicut, as well as Colonel Sherman Potter, had excellent skills.

The fourth surgeon of the camp, Major Charles Emerson Winchester III, was on pre-or duty, certainly the worst job while under artillery fire. Clutching his helmet to his head, he dashed to the newly arrived bus the Army used as an ambulance – heaven only knew how it had managed to reach the hospital safely. He climbed inside and shouted out instructions to get everyone into the relative safety of pre-or as quickly as possible before he had even checked on the first wounded man. Being out here would only expose their lives to more danger than they already were in from their wounds.

At the back of the ambulance sat a young corporal, his left arm hanging down limply while with his right hand he clutched the hand of another soldier as if his life depended on it – or as if his comrade and probably friend's life depended on it.

As Charles worked his way towards the back of the ambulance while the patients closest to the door were already being carried or helped to pre-or, his eyes fell upon these two young men. 

“Don't you dare die on me, Ricky,” Charles heard the corporal whisper while – Charles stopped and looked again. Had the corporal just caressed the other man's hand with his thumb? “I l...” Another mortar exploded close enough to rock the bus and drown out the corporal's words. It also kicked Charles into action again.

“We'll take care of him now,” Charles assured the corporal who seemed to be holding onto his friend's hand even harder now. “Get inside and we'll bring,” Charles reached for the wounded man's dog-tags, “Corporal McKinney over right away.” While he was at it, he lifted the bloody bandage from McKinney's chest. He didn't like what he saw underneath and signaled for someone to come and carry McKinney out.

“I'm not leaving him!” The young man with the limp arm sounded desperate and close to tears.

“All right, just let go of his hand so we can carry him out. You can walk beside him. But time is of the essence now.” He didn't explain whether he considered the mortars or the chest wound the bigger threat.

Charles wasn't usually this understanding for the bonds between two soldiers, or at least he usually didn't show it, but the tiny caress, such a tiny gesture, had touched something deep inside of him, had woken a long buried memory.

The softer tone of Charles' words at least caused the desperate man to let go of his friend's hand, but he followed the bearers out of the bus close enough to nearly get under their feet, and refused to move from McKinney's side until the badly wounded man was carried through the double doors into the OR itself.

“Pierce, are you free? I have a bad chest wound here,” Charles asked as he strode in behind McKinney. He knew Pierce was the hospital's specialist when it came to chest wounds, and for the sake of a patient he was willing to admit it – at least _this_ way.

“I'm still playing hide and seek with shards in this one's stomach.”

“I think you'd better tackle it yourself, Major,” Colonel Potter, who could see the concentration written all over Hunnicut's face as the captain worked on his own patient, stated, “How many more this time?”

“Six, this one is worst off. He takes priority over those already waiting. Prepare him while I wash,” he said to no one in particular. Someone would see to it, he knew.

“Margaret, maybe you'd better help Charles,” Hawkeye Pierce suggested somberly. “Kellye can finish with me.”

Another mortar crashed down somewhere close by as Charles walked out the door to go and wash.


	2. Chapter 2

Synchronicity is a strange phenomenon and one that manifested itself at the 4077th that day in that the shelling the hospital had received all day long ended as the last patient was being moved to post-op.

Tired and exhausted as the camp's occupants were, relief at having survived the day drove them to Rosie's for a celebration of life. Even Charles Emerson Winchester III, usually not the most sociable person in the camp, joined the other surgeons, Father Mulcahy, and Klinger at one of the tables.

No one but Rosie counted the rounds that evening, though it didn't take all that many to make the exhausted MASH personnel drowsy. Father Mulcahy was the first to say his good byes, with Potter and Klinger soon following suit.

What remained was a solemn threesome of surgeons. Hawkeye soon fell asleep, his head resting on his arms on the table. He snored gently and B.J. patted his shoulder affectionately before returning his gaze to the glass he was holding in his other hand. Charles sat across from the two friends, hunched over his drink, his hands folded around his half-empty glass. He seemed to be studying its diminished contents, but in reality he was watching the two men opposite himself.

Someone staggered through the room drunkenly, tried to hold himself upright by clinging temporarily onto the back of Hawkeye's chair, which tipped the chair back, and lifted the sleeping surgeon's head off the table. Hawkeye woke with a start when the chair slammed back down and his head banged onto the table.

“S'rry,” the other man mumbled and staggered on. Hawkeye looked after him, confusion written all over his face.

“You okay?” B.J. asked, reaching out a hand to his friend again.

Hawkeye touched his nose, making sure it wasn't bleeding. “Yeah. Though I probably won't be come morning.”

“Ah, let's worry about that in the morning.”

“I'll probably feel too bad to bother worrying.”

“So don't worry at all. That's even better.” B.J. offered him a grin, comfortably sliding his arm around his friend's shoulders.

Hawkeye stared at B.J. for a moment, too drunk or too tired to come up with a witty repartee. Instead he struggled out of B.J.'s arm and to his feet. “Call of nature,” he announced.

When he was gone, Charles lifted his glass to his lips, but let it sink again without so much as sipping at its contents.

“You know, Beej – May I call you Beej?” His voice was a little slurred, a clear sign of the amount of alcohol running through his veins. He didn't wait for an answer and simply went on, “Sometimes I really envy you. You and Pierce. Your... friendship.”

B.J. looked at Charles in surprise, he clearly hadn't expected to ever hear a statement to that effect from the snobby Bostonian.

“You're so close,” Charles went on, unwilling – or unable – to stop now that he had started talking. “It's not something that comes naturally to a Winchester; with us everyone is kept at arm's length. But,” here he hesitated for a moment, his alcohol-befuddled brain searching for words to express his thoughts, “sometimes I wish it was different. That I was different. Just reaching out to a friend, touching...” he trailed off and shook his head while he lifted his glass again, this time emptying it.

B.J. was still trying to wrap his tired mind around that little speech and didn't say anything for a while. When he opened his mouth to reply, Charles had made up his mind about something.

“Well. I have post-op duty in the morning, I'd better get back to the camp,” Charles declared in a more normal tone and pushed himself to his feet. It took him a moment to find his balance before he risked moving. He nearly bumped into Hawkeye at the door, but they both managed to side-step each other.

“Good night, Pierce,” Charles said and vanished out the door.

Hawkeye looked after him for a moment, then lurched back to his chair and slumped down in it. “No one's got any drinking stamina these days,” he declared and raised his hand to signal Rosie to bring them more drinks. She was looking the other way, though.

“That makes me no one,” B.J. decided and emptied his glass. “I've had enough, all I want now is my bed.”

“Actually, that's not a bad idea, either.” Hawkeye wiggled his eyebrows at B.J. suggestively, making his friend laugh.

“Forget about it. You'd be asleep before you even got your pants off!”

Hawkeye wanted to protest but ended up yawning instead.

“See? Come on, let's head back to the Swamp,” B.J., rising, suggested and held out a hand to pull Hawkeye up.

“Pity,” Hawkeye decided but let himself be pulled to his feet. “I'd have loved to end this little celebration on a different note than just sleeping off my insobriety.”

“You know, Hawk, now that the shelling has stopped I think it's safe to say 'tomorrow's another day'.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning proved uneventful. When his shift started, Charles, still feeling a little under the weather himself, left the Swamp quietly without waking his still sleeping comrades. It was less for their benefit than his own, though, that he all but tiptoed through the tent; his head was proving to be less than fond of noise after the amount of alcohol he had forced his body to endure the previous night.

And so it was past eleven am when Klinger, wearing a flower-patterned dress and a summery hat, cheerfully strode into the Swamp to deliver the mail. “Good morning, sleepy mail receivers!”

The volume of his voice earned him groans from the two occupied cots and Hawkeye's pillow flying in his general direction; it was too badly aimed to actually hit him.

“Klinger, for heaven's sake!” B.J. exclaimed before wincing at the volume of his own words.

“For that as well, but mostly for the mail's sake,” Klinger gave back and dropped a big, padded envelope on Charles' cot.

Hawkeye gestured toward his pillow that lay on the floor where it had landed after having missed Klinger; it was out of his reach. “If you two insist on making so much noise, at least hand me back my pillow so I can put it over my ears.”

Klinger reached for the requested item and held it out to Hawkeye. “Something for the ears and something for the eyes. Your nudist magazine has arrived.”

Hawkeye reached blindly for the pillow and pulled it over his head. B.J., meanwhile, had pulled his blanket over his head.

“I'll just leave the mail over here then, Sirs.” Klinger deposited it on the cold stove in the center of the tent and left, shaking his head.

The Swamp remained quiet for a minute or two before B.J. re-emerged from under his blanket.

“Hey, Hawk?”

“Hm?” The two letters sounded muffled, coming from under the pillow.

“Hawk!” B.J. winced and, instead of shouting, resorted to Hawkeye's earlier practice of throwing his pillow. He aimed better, though, and hit his friend with it.

“What?” Hawkeye grumbled and threw the pillow back. It landed short of B.J.'s cot.

“Remember when you answered your call of nature last night?”

“Last night happened?”

B.J. ignored the question.

“Good old Charlie was seriously drunk. You should have heard what he told me. I don't think there was much blood left in his alcohol or he wouldn't have said something as ridiculous as that.”

B.J. had managed to sit up by now and retrieved his pillow from the floor. Dusting it off, he continued, “I tell you, you won't believe it.”

“I'm trying to sleep and you're making too much noise.”

“Oh, come on. Let's grab what passes for coffee here and I'll tell you about it.”

“Telling me about it will make more noise,” Hawkeye grumbled.

When B.J. said nothing in return, Hawkeye finally peered out from under the pillow to find B.J. looking at him expectantly. “That crazy?”

“Yup.” B.J. reached for his socks, content that he now had the other man's attention.

Hawkeye sat up with a groan. “It'd better be.” He waited for the world to stop spinning before he really looked at B.J. for the first time. “Why are you looking so fit?”

“I'm a good actor?”

Hawkeye shook his head and immediately regretted it.

B.J. stood and reached for Hawkeye's bathrobe, then threw it onto his friend's cot. “Get dressed. Coffee will make you feel better.”

“Coffee would make me feel better if we had any. The stuff that passes for coffee here will just give me an ulcer,” Hawkeye complained but reached for his robe anyway.

And so the two friends made their way over to the mess tent, where Hawkeye slumped down at a table while B.J. went to get some coffee. Soon after, B.J. sat a steaming mug down in front of his friend and took the seat opposite him.

“Drink,” he said. “Doctor's orders.”

“Cruel doctor.” But Hawkeye reached for the mug and deeply inhaled the smell of the beverage before taking a careful sip.

B.J. watched him, then patted his arm when Hawkeye put the mug down again. Hawkeye covered B.J.'s hand with his own for a moment.

“Now, do you want to hear about Charlie?”

“I fear you're going to tell me no matter what I answer – so shoot.”

So B.J. told him as much of Charles' words as he could remember and Hawkeye actually had to laugh, though it made him wince again.

“You're sure you didn't dream that?”

“Positive.”

“Unbelievable. Though...” Hawkeye fell silent and frowned.

“Though what?” B.J. prompted.

Hawkeye, suddenly a lot more interested than he had been mere minutes ago, leaned across the table in a conspiratorial manner. “He said that – touch? That exact word?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Hm,” Hawkeye sounded thoughtful. “Look, there's something he said to me shortly after he got here. No details of course, but – he confessed he nearly got kicked out of school when he was fourteen for something he did.”

“So? He was a teenager, teenagers can be a little wild; though I admit it seems a far stretch for dear Charles.”

“Yeah, yeah, but – what if Charles touched someone inappropriately? As in touching another boy? Just think about the kind of school Charles must have been at. Something like that could certainly cause a great ruckus in 'noble' institutions.”

“Charles? Gay? You can't be serious, Hawk.”

“Why not? Think about it. I bet he went to an all boys school. And he told me he had to learn self-restraint after that incident. I can't see something like that going down well with his kind of family, either. You just told me he said they keep each other at arm's length.”

“Still, there could be a hundred other reasons why he was nearly kicked out. He was drunk last night, Hawk. Pissed. Sloshed. Don't make too much of it.”

“OK, so you think he isn't gay?”

“Definitely not.”

“You're on. What are we betting?”

B.J. chuckled. “How do you want to prove it one way or the other? Ask him?”

“No. Of course not. He'd deny it.”

“Because he isn't gay.”

“Or because he simply would never admit to it. We'll have to draw him out.”

“Hawk!” B.J.'s voice was equal parts amusement and exasperation at his friend's overflowing imagination.

“Come on, if you're so sure you're right, why not bet? We'll come up with ideas how to find out. What are we betting?”

“OK, OK. We're betting...” B.J.'s face lit up with mischief and he, too, leaned forward before continuing. “Winner gets the blowjob of his life.”

“Sounds more like there'll be two winners, but OK, you're on. We're betting one blowjob on Charles' sexual orientation.”

They shook hands on it.


	4. Chapter 4

The first attempt to draw Charles out presented itself unexpectedly. Hawkeye and B.J. were lounging in the Swamp a little later, looking through their mail. B.J. was reading his wife's letter for the third time in a row while Hawkeye leafed through his nudist magazine. He was studying a photo of a well-toned man when Charles' voice rang across the compound.

“Call me if there's any change,” he was saying to the duty nurse as he left post-op.

Hawkeye looked up at the sound of Charles' voice and suddenly hissed to B.J. “Here's a good chance. Let's see how he reacts to this.” He held up the glossy photo of the naked man, he had been looking at, for his friend to see.

B.J. raised an inquisitive eyebrow but didn't comment. He looked on when Hawkeye quickly got up and put the magazine down on top of Charles' as of yet untouched mail. Hawkeye moved the magazine around a little to make it look like it had been casually discarded, then dropped back down on his cot and picked up his dad's letter, which he had read earlier, before so much as glancing at the magazine.

Both men seemed engrossed in their letters when Charles walked into the Swamp a moment later. He glanced at his tentmates. “I take it the mail came in.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned towards his cot and stared down at the magazine.

“Ah, no. Can you believe this? Someone ran over our trash can and now it's so dented, the lid doesn't fit any longer,” B.J. reported, looking up from his letter.

“Well, what a pity it's in San Francisco,” Charles said turning towards the other two, “or it would make disposing of this,” he held up the nudist magazine by two fingers as if he feared it would bite him the next moment, his face a mask of disgust, “much easier.” He dropped it on Hawkeye's cot. “Cretins. At least keep your dirt on your side of the tent.”

“Dirt?” Hawkeye glanced at the miraculously still open page with the man's photograph. “He looks like he's just had a shower. Doesn't he, Beej?” He held the magazine up for his friend to inspect it, and B.J. dutifully studied the picture once again.

“Yes, he looks spotlessly clean to me.”

“See, Charles?” Now Hawkeye held the magazine up for Charles to see again. “It's not dirt. It's a clean human. A man. Surely you've heard of them when you studied medicine?”

Charles didn't so much as glance at the magazine. Instead he turned without a further word, reached for the envelope waiting for him and sat down in his chair.

“Though – you know, Hawk, in a way Charles is right.”

That got Charles' attention and he stopped in his movements, a record half in and half out of the envelope.

“Adam was made from earth,” B.J. continued, “and he's even that guy's really distant relative.”

Charles huffed at the explanation and went on extracting the record from the envelope.

“Doesn't count,” Hawkeye said. “The Creation is an unproven theory. And he'd be a really, really distant relative. Too distant to count.”

That seemed to be as far as they could get with this game. Hawkeye and B.J. exchanged glances, trying to gauge if either had spotted anything in Charles behavior. B.J. shrugged and Hawkeye, looking discontent about being none the wiser, started leafing through the magazine again.


	5. Chapter 5

Later that evening, when B.J. came to relieve Hawkeye from post-op duty, he pulled his friend aside.

“I've been thinking.”

“Really? I didn't know you had it in you,” Hawkeye joked, but B.J. ignored it.

“Maybe we're going at our … 'quest' the wrong way.”

“Our quest? Oh, yes. Our quest.” Hawkeye's expression clearly said 'got ya' for a moment before he crossed his arms over his chest. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe it'd be easier to gauge our suspect's reaction to the opposite gender.” B.J. chose his words carefully as Margaret was milling about not far away and he wasn't keen on her finding out about Hawkeye's and his little bet.

“Hm.” Hawkeye thought about Charles' reactions to women that he had witnessed. “Disinterest, mostly. Ha, that proves me right!”

B.J. shushed him and lowered his voice. “No, it just proves that he's not as eager to get laid as you are. But how would he react, for example, to facing a real naked woman? Not a picture in your magazine, Hawk, someone here in the camp.”

“And how would you want to set that up?”

“I haven't worked that part out yet,” B.J. admitted. “Why don't you think about it while I'm busy here?”

“Great, you come up with an idea and I have to work it out.”

“I just don't want you to get bored while I'm working.”

“You're so generous.”

B.J. patted Hawkeye on the shoulder as he moved past him. “So, who do we have here?” He picked up the clipboard hanging from the first bed in post-op. “Sergeant Williams. Says here you've got a broken forefinger. Sorry, no picking your nose for a while.”

Hawkeye chuckled and left, heading for the officers' club. He got himself a beer and turned to check who was present. It was a quiet evening, most probably still too exhausted from the previous day to hang out here.

Colonel Potter sat at a table, bent over a letter. Hawkeye strode over to him. “Mind if I join you in silence for a while?”

Potter looked up at him briefly. “Silent company is welcome. Make yourself at home.”

Hawkeye sat down and stretched out his legs. As he nipped at his beer, the door opened again and Charles strode in. Much to Hawkeye's surprise, he approached him. “Pierce, a word?”

“Certainly. Which word would you like?”

Charles grimaced briefly but then put on as calm an expression as he could manage. “You've just come off post-up duty, haven't you? I'd like to hear your opinion on Corporal McKinney.”

He pulled up a chair and sat down, not exactly at Potter's table, but close enough to be able to talk to Hawkeye.

Potter looked up from his letter. It wasn't like Charles to ask for Hawkeye's opinion and that was a good enough reason for him to show interest.

“The chest wound you operated on yesterday?” Hawkeye inquired, not really expecting an answer, but just buying time while he mentally went over what he knew. “Still touch and go.”

“I feared so. Was there anything I should have done differently?”

Hawkeye looked at him questioningly. “You're asking me? You're not only asking for my opinion on your patient, but also on your work? Are feeling well, Charles?”

“I'm perfectly fine,” Charles replied, his voice just barely patient, a hint of annoyance was already sneaking into it. “Now, if you'd please answer my question, Pierce?”

“No. As in no, I don't think you should or even could have done anything else,” Hawkeye replied somberly, picking up on Charles' tone.

Potter, who had followed their exchange, chimed in. “I agree with Pierce, Major. You did a fine job on that young soldier, but whether he's got enough to live for to fight for his life or not – that's not something any one of us can say or influence.”

Charles nodded, though it wasn't out of relief that he'd not made a mistake. “Thank you, gentlemen.” And with that Charles got up again and left the club.

Hawkeye looked after him, still a little bewildered by the encounter. 

Potter noticed his expression. “Any idea why he is so overly interested in this patient?”

“None at all.” But I'm going to find out, Hawkeye added in thought and picked up his beer again.


	6. Chapter 6

“You'll never get him to look through the peephole in the women's shower, Hawk,” B.J. said to his friend, who stood in the middle of the Swamp the next morning, shaving.

“Then how do you want to get him to see a naked woman around here?”

“We'll have to stage something to make them rush out of the shower while Charles is about.”

Hawkeye continued shaving for a moment, then lowered his razor and looked at B.J. with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Didn't I see some left-over firecrackers in the storage shed last week?”

“I don't know. Did you?”

“I'm certain I did. Now, Beej, what are holes good for beside peeking through?”

“Ventilation?”

“Oh come on, you can do better than that.” Hawkeye studied himself in the mirror, decided he'd made a good enough job of shaving, and wiped the remaining foam off his face.

“You can wiggle your finger in them?”

“Close. You can stick something through them. Something like a harmless, but loudly banging firecracker.”

“If you're a very bad boy, you might do that.”

“Bad-Boy is my middle name.”

“Really? I thought it was Franklin.”

“Just at home, here it's Bad-Boy.”

“So you're Triple-B Pierce?”

“You're straying off-topic.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“I think three Bs are too many.”

“About the firecrackers!”

“Oh, that. It might work, if you can get the timing right. And you probably don't want to get caught.”

“No, I don't. Well, timing can be organized. As for not getting caught... we need some kind of slow match so we can be far enough away not to be suspected.”

“And where do you intend to get that from in a hospital?”

“Don't we have an engineer in post-op who happens to owe me his life? I bet he has some suggestions.”

And indeed the man had some ideas on offer. As a suggested alternative to getting a slow match through the official army channels, he told Hawkeye about an impromptu substitute he'd once used: a string soaked in mouthwash – which contained sodium nitrate – and then left to dry. The sodium nitrate would make the string burn more slowly. 

So it was that with some of Charles' own mouthwash, which they helped themselves to, Hawkeye and B.J. made their own slow match. Once it had dried, they ran a timing-test with a short piece and finally tied some firecrackers that B.J. had appropriated from the storage onto the main string. Now all they had to do was wait for the right opportunity to present itself. They had to catch at least one nurse in the shower and have a reason to get Charles out into the compound. 

Getting Charles to leave the Swamp turned out to be easy when a Korean woman came into the camp the next day to pick up the laundry she did for some of the Americans. Charles was one of her customers, so they only had to alert Charles to her presence. Hawkeye and B.J. had positioned themselves in sun-chairs outside the Swamp so they could keep an eye on both the women's shower and Charles' movements. The latter was in the Swamp while Margaret was in the shower. It seemed ideal to the friends. 

Having exchanged a quick glance with B.J., Hawkeye got up and ambled over to the shower to put the firecrackers into place and light the fuse. Having given Hawkeye a headstart, B.J. got up and yelled at the top of his voice: “Get your laundry out, folks, Mrs. Kim is here!”

The small Korean woman bowed when she heard her name.

“Hey, Charles weren't you waiting for her?” B.J. inquired through the open Swamp door.

“Yes, indeed.” Charles was still in his pajamas as he had only gotten up recently. He had spent several hours of the night in post-op, closely watching over Corporal McKinney, who had seemed to take a turn for the worse for a couple of hours. Once Charles had been content that his patient apparently had enough will to fight for his life – at least for now – he had gone back to sleep. 

Of course it wouldn't do for him to show himself outside the tent in just his pajamas, so he shrugged into his bathrobe before picking up his dirty laundry.

He stepped outside and approached Mrs. Kim, ignoring B.J. who went on to lean against the Swamp door as it closed behind Charles, blocking the way back inside, just in case Charles would be done too soon.

Hawkeye strolled back over to B.J.. “Ah, it's laundry day for the filthy rich,” he commented as he passed Charles. He winked at B.J. and sat back down in his sun chair.

“Oh, come on, Hawk, I'm sure Mrs. Kim is very happy about the income. Aren't you, Mrs. Kim?” B.J. asked.

The woman, already holding Charles' laundry sack in her hands, bowed again. “Yes, washing good business,” she confirmed in broken English.

Before anyone else could say a word, shots rang through the camp. At least that's what everyone thought they were; B.J. and Hawkeye of course knew better, but even though they had expected them, they flinched just like everyone else. It was the benefit of the slow-match; they hadn't known themselves when exactly the firecrackers would go off.

Those already out in the compound froze or dove for cover while a scream emerged from the women's shower and the door flew open. Out ran Margaret, still dripping wet from her shower, clutching a towel to her chest, and checking left and right for the sniper who had seemingly shot at the shower tent.

Shouts of “Where did those shots come from?” started to sound through the camp, but no one seemed to have an answer. More and more people poked their heads out of the doors of various tents, gauging if there was danger outside or not.

Charles seemed surprisingly unaffected by the shots – or at least that's how he seemed when he walked towards Margaret, who was starting to draw attention in her state of undress. Charles removed his robe and, without saying a word, draped it around her shoulders, then led her off in the direction of her own tent.

“In case no one had noticed, there don't seem to be any further shots,” he announced to the camp in general.

“Thank you, Charles,” Margaret said when he held open the door to her tent for her. “It's so good to know that there are true gentlemen around.”

Charles bowed his head at her, acknowledging her gratitude.

“I'll bring your robe back later.” 

“Of course. But let me assure you, there is no hurry.” Margaret offered him a brief smile, then shut the door.

His head held high, Charles walked back towards the Swamp in his pajamas, ignoring the glances and the sniggering of those he passed.

Meanwhile, B.J. had sat back down in his sun chair and stared ahead thoughtfully. “That didn't really tell us much, either, did it?”

“No. All that scheming for nothing,” Hawkeye complained. “Either he's just not interested or he's got incredible self-control.”

“Probably the latter, he barely even flinched when the shots rang out. Should you try to dispose of the evidence, by the way?”

“I'd have to get into the women's shower for that. And as much as I'd love to be the fly on the wall in there, it'd probably look very suspicious if I went in now.”

“Good point,” B.J. conceded.

Charles walked past without so much as glancing at them, and went to finish his business with Mrs. Kim.

“We need a new plan,” Hawkeye said.

“I'm all ears.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

For the moment, they were out of ideas. But so was everyone else about the mysterious shots.

Once the remains of the crackers had been discovered, Colonel Potter called them into his office where B.J. perched on the edge of a table and Hawkeye slumped down in a chair.

“You two don't happen to know anything about this, do you?” Potter asked, pointing at the scorched scraps of paper that had once been the crackers.

B.J. leaned forward to inspect them. “Did someone burn the daily reports?”

“Why would we know anything about that? I haven't even been near any reports. I detest paper-work,” Hawkeye chimed in.

But of course Potter knew his black sheep. “Cut out the crap. Those are the remains of firecrackers someone let go off in the women's shower earlier today.”

“Ah, so there were no shots after all?” B.J. inquired.

“No shots,” Potter confirmed, giving him a hard stare.

“I haven't been anywhere near the showers. Actually I could do with one.”

“Yes, I can vouch for that. I share a tent with him, he really does need a shower,” Hawkeye helpfully confirmed.

“Is that so?” Potter asked and shifted his glare over onto Hawkeye. “And where were you when this happened?”

“Taking a sunbath outside the Swamp. Mrs. Kim had just arrived,” Hawkeye answered truthfully.

“Yes, we had a brief discussion about whether using her services for the little money she gets is ripping her off, or welcome help for her to pay for her living. Charles was there, too,” B.J. said in support of his friend.

“Hm,” Potter made. “I don't know how you did it, but I'm sure you did do it. As I can't prove it, just take my warning,” he wagged his forefinger warningly, “don't do it again!”

“I promise not to do again what I didn't do,” B.J. said, who really hadn't let the firecrackers go off.

“I'll keep an eye on him,” Hawkeye offered and pushed himself out of the chair.

“And I'll keep an eye on the two of you,” Potter stated.

Once the two surgeons were out the door, he shook his head and smiled a little. They were such kids at times, always playing pranks. But he held great affection for them.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Hawkeye and B.J. had returned to the Swamp, Charles had received his bathrobe back from Margaret, and was gathering up his shower-kit.

“Gentlemen,” he said as he headed for the door, “I take it there will be no mysterious shots ringing out while I'm in the shower.” Obviously he either was aware that Potter suspected the two captains to be responsible for the prank, or he harbored similar suspicions himself.

“Oh, you never know when a sniper might appear, Charles,” B.J. said casually as he dropped down in his chair.

“Yes, in case you hadn't heard – there's a war on out there,” Hawkeye chimed in.

“I had heard and wouldn't consider such an attack 'mysterious',” Charles gave back, glared at them for a brief moment, and pushed open the door. He hesitated briefly, clutching his kit with one hand and holding the door open with the other, but then left without a further word.

Hawkeye shook his head in mock outrage. “Why does everyone suspect us?”

“Maybe I was the last one to learn of your new middle name?”

Hawkeye huffed in response and walked to their still to pour himself a drink.

“You know, I really could do with that shower,” B.J. stated. “Care to join me?”

“You've already got Charles' company if you go now, what do you need mine for?”

“I like your company better.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

B.J. looked up at Hawkeye. “Flattery – there's a thought. You know what this camp needs? A Mr. 4077 contest.”

Hawkeye lifted his martini glass to his lips, took a sip and grimaced. “Still very young, I'd say it needs at least another hour.” Then B.J.'s words sunk in and he focused his attention on his friend. “What do you mean?”

“Let's go for a shower and I'll tell you.”

“You never seem to tell me things here lately, always dragging me elsewhere.”

“You'll understand when we get there. If we get there soon enough,” B.J. hinted.

“Ah, this is about our bet, is it?” He considered finishing off his drink but decided to leave it for later. “OK, I'm game.” 

“Good.”

Not long after, they stepped into the shower tent where Charles occupied the middle shower, shampoo in his sparse hair and soap foam covering his body.

“See, Hawk, Charles is already cleaning up for the competition. Time we catch up.” B.J. disrobed and pushed his shorts down.

“You really think Charles has what it takes to be crowned 'Mr. 4077'?” Hawkeye asked, quickly putting one and one together.

B.J. stopped in front of Charles, who had so far ignored their arrival, and peeked over the door at the naked man. “I see potential. Some of the girls probably go for his type.”

Charles glared at him. “Do you mind, Hunnicut?”

“Not at all,” B.J. replied cheerfully and stood back, thus offering Charles a better view of his body. “I am a happily married man after all.”

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, noticeable in the stony glare he kept on B.J.'s face for another couple of seconds.

Hawkeye could barely suppress his giggling and turned away to the clothes hooks as he, too, undressed. Once he was certain he'd suppressed the urge to giggle, he turned back towards the other two. B.J. was on his way into the last shower stall by now, but Hawkeye struck a pose.

“So, Beej, how do you rate my chances, then?”

“You two would have to fight over the first prize for the most annoying member of this unit,” Charles commented drily and started to rinse his hair.

“I'll take that as the compliment it was obviously meant to be,” Hawkeye said and offered B.J. a good view of his nudity, who grinned at him in return.

“So you think Charles would stand a chance?” Hawkeye entered the left stall and peered over the wall separating it from Charles' shower. “Hm, hm,” he said, but then a towel landed in his face. Charles had grown tired of trying to preserve his privacy with words only, and had thrown his towel at Hawkeye.

Hawkeye neatly folded it and hung it over the front of his own shower. “Thanks, but I like to shower first and dry off later.”

“Pierce?” There was a threatening undertone to the word.

“Charles?”

“My towel, if you please.”

“What if I don't?”

Charles leant over the dividing wall as far as possible to reach his towel, but Hawkey pushed it out of his reach.

“Cretin! Hand me back that towel!”

“Come and get it if you want it so badly,” Hawkeye said and turned on his shower.

“Really, Charles, why so shy? You'll have to show a little of yourself if you want to be Mr. 4077.”

“Let me assure you, Hunnicut, that I have no intentions of joining any weird kind of contest.”

“Really? Some of the nurses will be very disappointed to hear that.”

“Life is cruel,” Charles stated, pushed out of his shower and, with only few steps, was in reach of his towel. 

Hawkeye let him have it this time and Charles wrapped it around his waist.

“Next time don't throw away items you still need, Charles.”

Charles reached for his robe and slipped it on before beginning to towel himself off.

Once he was dry and sufficiently dressed, he casually reached for the other men's robes, and left with them draped over his arm.

“Charles!” Hawkeye called after him. “Charlie!”

But his words fell on deaf ears. Charles walked back to the Swamp where he discarded the robes on the two men's cots, a satisfied grin on his face. “Next time don't mess with a Winchester, Pierce,” he said to empty air.


	8. Chapter 8

Timing is of utter importance and B.J. Hunnicut's timing was spot-on when he came off shift the next day. He strode out of post-op into Klinger's domain where he found the Corporal leaning over something on his desk.

“Oh boy, now look at that,” Klinger said to no one in particular, too absorbed to have noticed B.J.'s arrival.

B.J., however, heard him and did as he was told. He looked over Klinger's shoulder and whistled.

“Klinger, is that what I think it is?”

Klinger jumped at the sound of his name. “Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “What are you trying to do – give me a heart attack?”

“If I did, you'd be lucky to find yourself in the presence of a doctor.” B.J. pointed at the book on Klinger's desk. “Where on earth did you get that?”

He reached for the book, but Klinger moved to block him. “Where did I get what?”

“The book! The Kama Sutra?”

“Oh, you had noticed that, hadn't you?”

“Yes. Now can I see it?”

Klinger hesitated.

“Oh, come come on, Klinger. I know you have it, so why not let me see it?”

Klinger couldn't come up with a reason, so he reluctantly stepped aside. “I suppose a quick glance won't do any harm.”

B.J. picked the book up curiously and flipped through a couple of pages. 

“Can I borrow this?”

“No. That book is not leaving these four walls.” Klinger sounded like he'd put his foot down on the matter.

“Come on, Klinger, just for an hour?”

“No.”

“OK, what do you want?”

“Section Eight?”

“No can do. You know that.”

“Well... no.”

“What? Come on, out with it!”

“Well,” Klinger started once more, “I could do with a little spare time to … read my new book, if you get my meaning. So if you'd type my reports for a week...”

“A day,” B.J. countered.

“Five days.”

“Three.”

“Deal!”

B.J. sighed, not looking forward to typing reports, but hopefully it would be worth it. “You'll have it back in an hour,” he promised and walked towards the door.

“No! Wait!” Klinger exclaimed and B.J. stopped dead in his tracks. “You can't just walk around the camp with that book under your arm!”

“Heavens, Klinger, where do you think I should put it? In my boot?”

Klinger reached for a big envelope and held it out to B.J. “This will do.”

B.J. slid the book into the envelope and took it from Klinger. “Happy?”

Klinger sighed dramatically. “It'll have to do.”

“Good. An hour.”

“I'll keep an eye on the clock!”

B.J. waved at him and left to head back to the Swamp. There he found Hawkeye reading a paperback that B.J. knew his friend had been through twice already. Charles sat in his chair on the other side of the tent and was recording a letter to his sister. If he didn't occasionally see Charles scribble something on a patient's medical chart, he might get the idea that Charles was unable to write. He'd never seen him write a letter, he always recorded them on tape.

He pushed the thought aside and dropped down on Hawkeye's bunk, next to his friend. “I've got something better for you to read.” He reached into the envelope and slowly pulled out the book, just far enough that Hawkeye could see the title. B.J. watched as Hawkeye's eyes went wide with surprise and then shone with glee. “Let me see!”

“Shh,” B.J. hushed him. “We're not alone,” he stage-whispered loud enough for Charles to overhear.

“Give me that book and I won't care. Where did you get this?”

“It's on loan from the local library.”

Hawkeye gave him a quizzical look but didn't ask further questions as B.J. finally pulled the book free of the envelope and handed it to him.

B.J. leaned on Hawkeye so he, too, could look at the pictures.

“I'm not sure that's anatomically possible,” Hawkeye commented on a picture.

“Maybe only if you're Indian?”

“Maybe, I haven't had one of them on the table yet.” Hawkeye flipped to the next page and started to cackle.

B.J. looked at the picture, then at his friend. “What?”

“I just pictured Hotlips doing that one.”

“Who with?”

Their exchange over the pictures went on for a little while and they quickly were so engrossed in the book that they didn't notice Charles had walked over to them, and was glancing down at the two friends hunched over the book.

“Why am I actually surprised by your childish reaction to an ancient form of art?”

“I don't know, Charles, why are you?” B.J. said and looked up at him.

“Art! Yes. We should hang this on the wall. If only we had a wall.” Hawkeye eyed the side of the tent in dismay.

“Well, it would be more pleasant than the filth you usually surround yourself with,” Charles said, “and yet I am thankful it isn't possible.”

“Speaking of impossible,” Hawkeye flipped back a few pages and held the book up for Charles to study. “That is impossible, isn't it, Charles?”

“Haven't you ever heard the expression 'nothing is impossible', Pierce?”

“Are you saying you've done that?” B.J. inquired.

“If I have, it certainly isn't any of your business, Hunnicut,” Charles said haughtily.

“Oh come on, Charles, don't be a spoil sport. Here, we'll show you one we've done, and you'll show us one you did.” B.J. reached for the book and flipped through the pages until he found one of the positions that weren't all that exotic. “Here, that one.”

Hawkeye glanced at the picture. “Really? Not bad. Wait, I saw one...” he took the book from his friend and looked for a specific picture. “Here, that one! With a cute redhead who worked in the library when I was a student...” 

“Seriously?” B.J. sounded impressed. “You'll have to tell me about that some time.”

Hawkeye grinned at him and held the book out to Charles – who didn't take it.

“Your turn, Charles.”

“I never agreed to Hunnicut's proposition,” he said and turned away.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Hawkeye exclaimed. “You were happy to watch and listen, now you have to share, too.”

“I have to do no such thing, Pierce.” Charles sat back down in his chair and reached for the microphone of his tape-recorder. “Now if you don't mind, I'd quite like to finish my letter.”

Hawkeye wanted to protest, but B.J. touched his arm and shook his head. Charles could be stubborn as hell; if he didn't want to talk, he wouldn't. But he still thought he'd learned something. Now he just needed to talk to Hawkeye alone.

“I'll have to take it back soon, let's finish it.”

“What library is that? A transient library?”

B.J. laughed. “Something like that.” He turned the book to the next page he hadn't yet studied. “Hey, how about that one?”

They spent the rest of the hour hunched over the book and B.J. actually took it back a few minutes late. 

“You're late. That'll cost you another day of reports, Sir,” Klinger admonished him.

“Five minutes for a whole day? No way. Three days is generous enough.”

Klinger considered debating that, but changed his mind. “Well, in that case you can at least start right away. Here are the notes and these are the forms. And this,” he pointed at his typewriter, ”is your new best friend for the next three days.”

With that, Klinger strode out the door, the envelope with the book under his arm, and B.J. sat down at the clerk's desk with a sigh.

Hawkeye came looking for him a while later and found his friend cursing over the letter P hiding on the keys of the typewriter. Hawkeye's visit was a welcome distraction. He quickly explained his deal with Klinger.

“So here I am, typing reports. But it was worth it.”

Hawkeye grinned. “A noble deed indeed. Every picture was worth it.”

“Says the one who's not doing the typing. But actually that's not what I meant.”

Hawkeye looked at him inquisitively. “What else would have made it worth it?”

“Didn't you notice Charles' interest? Definitely not gay.”

“Ah, aren't you jumping to conclusions there? While I'm certain that you as much as I studied the female curves in detail, who is to say that they were what drew Charles' interest? There was a naked man in every picture!”

“But it was heterosexual!”

“It was art. You heard him say that.”

“You just can't stand to lose.”

“I haven't lost until you've proven that our Charlie is heterosexual.”

“I have!”

“No, you haven't. You proved he enjoys drawings of heterosexual couples having sex.”

“Why would a homosexual man enjoy that?”

“Because he likes to look at art and naked men?”

B.J. realized he wouldn't win the bet based on the Kama Sutra experience and waved for Hawkeye to leave. “OK, the bet's still open. Now get lost, or at least show me where the P is hiding.”

Hawkeye did both, he reached across B.J.'s chest and pressed the P, then left.

“Hey, I needed a capital P,” B.J. called after him.


	9. Chapter 9

The war was back on at full strength the next day. Some big shot had led his men into battle at first light of day, and apparently was too stubborn to accept a defeat, if the seemingly unending stream of wounded arriving at the 4077 since shortly after dawn was anything to go by.

Darkness had fallen hours ago when the last wounded man was transferred into post-op.

Except from the few unlucky ones on night shift, the exhausted personnel of MASH 4077 tumbled into their bunks.

One of the unlucky ones was B.J., who not only had the night shift, but also still had to type the reports for Klinger. He tried hard to focus on his typing while Klinger gently snored behind him, but the peace and his exhaustion soon gained the upper hand and he fell asleep in the desk chair.

He was unceremoniously woken by shouts filtering through the door that separated the office from the ward.

“Nurse! Nurse! Quick, Ricky, he can't breathe!”

Ricky was of course Charles' special patient, Corporal McKinney, and the shouting man was his friend, whom everyone knew as Mikey by now.

The duty nurse took one look at McKinney, then rushed into the office to call B.J. over.

“Doctor, quick, McKinney's got trouble breathing.”

B.J. was on his feet immediately and only stopped by Klinger's cot for a moment. “Klinger, go get Charles, he might need to open his chest patient up again.”

Klinger groaned but then B.J.'s words sunk in and he threw his blanket off. He didn't even bother to put on a robe but dashed out the door and to the Swamp. No time for politeness, he stormed in and shook Charles by the shoulder.

“Major! Your chest wound! B.J. thinks you might have to operate again.”

Hawkeye groaned from somewhere behind Klinger while Charles seemed more awake. “I'll be right over,” he said, his words sounding a little slurred. But Klinger was content that he'd gotten his message across.

“What's the fuss about?” Hawkeye asked and pushed himself up onto one elbow as Charles got up and started dressing.

“It seems my chest patient has taken a turn for the worse.”

“Crap. I'll assist, if you like.”

Charles paused for a moment and looked at Hawkeye in surprise for a moment. “I'd appreciate it.”

“Right.” Hawkeye pushed himself into a sitting position and reached for his boots.

When they arrived on the ward, B.J. had already assessed McKinney's state, managed to help him breathe more easily and now quickly briefed Charles. They all agreed that another operation was the only way to go. Unwilling to wake anyone else after the gruesome day, they decided that three surgeons could handle it on their own.

Klinger hovered in the door. “What do you need me to do?”

“Lend a hand, we need to get him into OR,” Hawkeye stated.

“Klinger and I can do it, you two go and scrub,” B.J. intervened.

Mikey reached for Charles' sleeve with his good arm as he passed. “Doc? What's happening? Is he going to make it?” 

“We're doing what we can for him. But he needs to fight for his life.”

Mikey turned to McKinney. “You hear that, Ricky? Fight! Don't you dare leave me alone out here! I need you!”

Charles patted Mikey's shoulder, but none of the others noticed it. “I'll do whatever I can to save him,” Charles promised and strode off, determination written on his face.

McKinney very nearly didn't make it. In fact, he didn't make it, but Charles was able to revive him. In retrospect he didn't know if it had been the heart massage or his words, muttered through clenched teeth, that brought the young corporal back to life, but something had done the trick. 

Two hours later, they returned McKinney to his bed in post-op. His chest was hidden under even more bandages than before, but he was breathing easily and regularly.

Mikey had not been able to sleep and strictly refused the nurse's offer of sleeping pills. Now that his Ricky was back, he sat on the edge of his cot and tentatively reached across to McKinney.

Charles stood on the other side of McKinney's bed and tiredly looked down at the unconscious man.

“Doc?”

Charles didn't react immediately, but finally met Mikey's eyes and nodded. “It's a long road to full recovery, but his chances are better now.”

Mikey let out a small whoop. “You hear that, Ricky? You'll be all right again! Just you wait and see.” He leaned forward and gently stroked a strand of hair out of McKinney's face. “You'll be all right.”

Hawkeye and B.J. stood by the door, quietly observing the scene.

Charles sat down on McKinney's bed and felt for his pulse. He nodded after a moment, content that the corporal's heart was performing steadily again.

Mikey observed him and seemed to relax even more at Charles' nodding. His confidence in McKinney's survival was growing by the minute. When Charles also drew out a small flashlight to check McKinney's eyes for reactions to light, and again nodded, he grinned.

“Thanks, Doc.” Mikey held out his hand across McKinney's chest, and after a moment's hesitation, Charles took it. 

Then he pushed himself up and turned to the nurse. “Keep a close eye on him, he's not out of danger yet,” he quietly told her. “Call me when his status changes, for better or for worse.” When she nodded, he walked towards the door, hoping to get back to bed. 

But Hawkeye and B.J. attached themselves to him as he left. Technically B.J. was still on duty, but he was due to be relieved by Potter soon anyway. Should he be needed until then, someone would find him. They always did.

“They're very close, aren't they?” B.J. asked, his voice hushed so as to not wake anyone in the surrounding tents.

“I believe so.”

“You do more than just believe, Charles. I heard what you said to McKinney when you had to revive him. _'If you love Mikey just half as much as he loves you, you'd better start fighting for your life,'_ were your words, I believe. Maybe not exactly, but something close to that.”

“Yeah, I heard that, too. How did you know they're lovers?”

Charles was too exhausted to argue. He sighed. “I don't. As I said, I believe they are.”

“But why?”

“Just something I noticed...” He hesitated but then decided to just tell them about his observation when the two wounded men had arrived in the camp.

B.J. and Hawkeye looked at each other. “Most people wouldn't have noticed. I probably wouldn't have,” B.J. said.

“Yeah. So why did you?”

Charles shrugged. “I suppose I was just looking in the right direction at the right time.”

But Hawkeye wasn't content with that answer. He stopped Charles from entering the Swamp, blocking the door with his arm. “It was because the small gesture meant something to you, too, didn't it?”

Charles stared at him but didn't comment.

“Because it's something that you once did, too,” Hawkeye continued. “And someone saw, just like you did. Only that someone didn't keep his mouth shut, did he?”

Charles' eyes widened with surprise. He clearly hadn't expected a theory like that from Hawkeye.

“Hawk, let's take this inside. Even if it's just a tent, it does offer a little more privacy than standing around out here does,” B.J. interjected and reached for Hawkeye's arm. Hawkeye let himself be pulled from the door, but his eyes didn't leave Charles's face until the major had stepped into the darkness of the tent ahead of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Charles went to his side of the Swamp. He didn't turn on the light or sit down. He simply remained standing, his hands in his pockets.

Hawkeye followed on Charles' heels, but B.J. held him back and stepped in front of Charles who stood with his back to the entrance. 

B.J.'s tone was soft as he addressed Charles. “I don't know if Hawkeye is onto something there, Charles, but something about those two boys in post-op has obviously touched a raw nerve with you.”

Charles didn't reply, but he didn't turn further away, either. B.J. could sense, rather than see, Charles' eyes on him.

“If you want to talk, you should know us well enough to tell we won't blame anyone for homosexual tendencies.” He risked reaching for Hawkeye's hand and pulled him close. After what they'd observed earlier he didn't think Charles would grass on them.

“Yes,” Charles confirmed quietly, “I believe I know you that well.” But it was all he said.

“I'll hypothesize some more then,” Hawkeye said, now sounding calmer than he had outside moments ago, and he chose his words with care. “A Bostonian teenager from a very traditional family met another boy in school, whom he came to like a lot more than the other boys. They became close, both in spirit and body. One day someone overheard or witnessed a close encounter between those boys and objected harshly to it. The headmaster heard of it and informed their parents. The Bostonian teenager got into a lot of trouble because of this special friendship – unjustly I must add – and had to fight hard to make amends with his school and family. He's not allowed himself to be this close to another man or boy ever since, due to pressure from his family.”

Charles swallowed audibly and even then took a moment to reply.

“I could imagine something like your hypothesis might have happened – or might possibly still happen today, Pierce.”

“And it happened to you?” B.J. asked quietly.

Again Charles hesitated. “I won't say it hasn't.”

“And those boys on the ward brought the memories and the pain back.” B.J. concluded. “I'm truly sorry about what this Bostonian teenager had to endure. It's just not right.” He reached out a hand and laid it on Charles' arm.

Charles tensed for a moment at the unexpected touch, but then his shoulders slumped. “No, it damn well isn't,” he said with more anger than his posture suggested he had held.

B.J. gave Hawkeye's hand a pull and directed him onto Charles' other side before giving the big Bostonian a long hug. Hawkeye followed his example.

After a moment of surprise, Charles accepted the hug, but couldn't make himself return it. He uttered a barely audible “thank you,” though.

“No one should have to say thank you for a hug,” Hawkeye stated. “Goddammit, there's so much wrong in a world where people have to say thank you for a hug from a friend.”

“Friend?” Charles sounded surprised by the choice of word.

“After what we've seen and learned about you now, do you really think we could be your enemies?” B.J. asked, astonished by Charles' surprised tone.

“Yeah, we've seen through your snobbery now. There's a great big heart in there that's been caged up way too long.” Hawkeye tapped Charles' chest with a finger.

Charles looked down at his own chest, as if he could look straight to his heart through clothes and skin. “I had no choice.”

“You do now. You're a grown-up, Charles. No headmaster can threaten to kick you out of school any longer.”

“The headmaster was the lesser of my worries.”

“Your family, then,” Hawkeye stated. “Who was it – your father? What did he threaten you with? Disinheritance?”

“My father is a very traditional man, indeed. And please, Pierce, don't get me wrong, he is a good man. He cares about his family, he gives to charities...”

“And yet he wasn't a good father, was he? At least not when it came to the emotional well-being of his son.”

“Everyone has faults, even a Winchester,” Charles defended his father.

“But loving someone is no fault. And no one ought to be punished for it,” B.J. stated. 

Silence stretched out between them until Charles spoke up. “Do you two...?” He left the question hanging in the air, not daring to speak of love.

They both got the gist of his question, but they'd never even asked themselves how deeply they felt for each other.

“In some way, probably yes. But it's different from my love for Peg and Erin,” B.J. finally said.

“We do care a great deal about each other,” Hawkeye added. “But yeah, B.J.'s right, it's different from the love for someone you might want to spend your life with.”

“Well, you're still lucky to have met, then. What you share between yourselves is more than I could ever hope for.”

“Why?”

“Because of who I am.”

“You're human, just like the rest of us. We're not singling you out – you're doing that yourself,” B.J. said.

Charles huffed. “That's easy for you to say. You're not in my situation.”

“Thankfully not,” B.J. confirmed, “but why not change your situation?”

“I wouldn't know where to start. I've had a certain behavior drilled into me from childhood days on, been brought up to fulfill my family's and society's expectations. And most of it really isn't a bad thing.”

B.J. shrugged, though he wasn't sure if Charles would see it in the darkness of the tent. “It's your choice. Just think about.”

“Yeah, if something bugs you, try to change it,” Hawkeye confirmed and yawned. “Sorry. I think I can hear my pillow calling out to me.”

Yawning is catching, and soon they were all yawning. “Yes, I think it's performing a duet with mine.”

“I could do with some sleep, too,” Charles confirmed.

“Right. Night, Charlie,” Hawkeye said flippantly, but touched Charles' shoulder briefly before he made his way over to his cot.

“Nighty-night.”

“Good night,” Charles hesitated a moment before adding, “friends.”

They all settled down to get some sleep. But there was one thing Hawkeye still had to say. 

“Oh, Beej? I won!”


	11. Chapter 11

The next couple of days passed quietly, or at least as quietly as was possible for the camp. It took the three inhabitants of the Swamp some time to adjust to the shift in their perception of each other, but there were improvements. Charles even walked up to their table at dinner three days later.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. Make yourself right at home.” Hawkeye pointed to the seat opposite B.J. and himself.

“Thank you.” Charles sat and for a moment they all just silently ate.

“McKinney is stable enough to be transferred to Tokyo tomorrow.”

“That's great news, Charles,” B.J. enthused. 

Charles nodded and continued in a quieter tone. “I wish I knew how to ensure that they can stay together.”

“Surely Mikey is stable enough to be transferred.”

“He is, he is. But Tokyo isn't like our little ward where everyone is bunched up together. McKinney will be placed in intensive care. But there is no need for that with just a fractured collarbone that is already healing well.”

“Hm,” Hawkeye made. “Wouldn't it be beneficial for a badly injured soldier to have someone he trusts to help him on the road to recovery?”

“Probably,” B.J. said and waited for Hawkeye to explain the idea he seemed to be pondering.

“If we can get Sidney to confirm that... he could visit McKinney in Toyko and advise for Mikey to be included in his recovery process.”

“Major Freedman? Do you think he would do something like that?”

“Sidney? Yeah, I'm pretty certain he'd help if we explained the situation to him.”

“Then I think we have a plan,” B.J. said. “Let's eat up and make a call to everyone's favorite shrink.”

Thankfully Sidney Freedman currently was in Tokyo and agreed to talk to the two corporals as soon as they arrived. It was all he could promise, but Hawkeye and B.J. had such faith in him that it rubbed off on Charles. They left Klinger's office together, idly chatting. It wasn't before they reached the Swamp that Charles, seemingly out of the blue, turned to Hawkeye.

“By the way, Pierce, I've been meaning to ask – what did you win? Your proclamation that you had won was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep the other night.”

“Oh that,” Hawkeye waved a hand dismissively. “Just a small bet I had on with Beej. He still owes me my prize, by the way.”

But Charles wasn't satisfied with the answer. “And what was this bet about?” When Hawkeye hesitated, he added, “Surely you can tell me, now that we've become friends.”

B.J. came to Hawkeye's help. “I bet him that you're heterosexual.”

That shut Charles up and he opened the door to their tent without a further word. Once the door had closed behind them, his curiosity got the better of him, though. “And what was the prize?” His tone was hushed now.

B.J. grinned at Hawkeye, then took a step closer to Charles and whispered to him, “I owe him the blowjob of his life.”

Charles choked on his own spittle and coughed. B.J. patted his back. Once he had calmed down again, Charles looked from B.J. to Hawkeye and back a couple of times.

“Want to watch?” B.J. asked innocently, nearly provoking another coughing fit, but Charles fended it off by clearing his throat.

“I wouldn't be averse to that,” he finally replied. “There's just one thing. Pierce, what exactly did _you_ bet?”

Hawkeye drew his look of surprise, which had so far been aimed at B.J. for the offer he had extended without so much as asking him, to Charles. “That you're gay, of course.”

“Then, gentlemen, I'm afraid there is no winner.”

“What?” Hawkeye and B.J. said in unison.

Charles clearly had recovered by now. “The fact that I don't chase after everything that has two legs and two breasts doesn't mean I'm not interested in women. I'm surprised that you of all people forgot about my last visit to Tokyo.”

“The smiling knees!” Hawkeye exclaimed and Charles winced.

“That wasn't really the part of it I was referring to.”

“But yeah, I remember now. Mrs. Chuck Winchester, was it?”

“Luckily she wasn't, but if you want proof of my interest in women, there you have it. So if you insist on putting a label on my sexuality, then it should be the same that apparently applies to the both of you: bisexuality.”

“Damn,” Hawkeye said. “Charles you just denied me the blowjob of my life!”

“Only if the only time you are interested in such matters is when you win a bet.”

B.J. walked over to Hawkeye and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He's right. It's not like we only get together to pay betting debts.”

Hawkeye patted his back. “You're right. Both of you.” He stepped out of B.J.'s embrace and looked at his friend curiously. “But I didn't know being watched was a turn on for you.”

“Nor did I. Nor do I, for that matter. But I didn't know I was bisexual until I met you, either.”

“Fair point.” He looked at Charles who patiently stood by and observed their conversation.

“OK, what about tonight then? Is anyone on duty tonight?”

“Not me,” B.J. said.

“My shift ended an hour ago.”

“Good. So unless wounded come in... about 11?”

B.J. nodded. “Yeah, should be quiet enough to get away by then.”

“Ah. Get away where?”

“Oh, right, you have no idea where we meet,” B.J. stated. “You probably know that some of the local Koreans rent out small huts. We have rented one of them. Well, originally Hawkeye did when he needed a break from everything, but after his return we decided to hang onto it. Better privacy than here.”

“And it's in walking distance of the camp.”

They went on to explain to Charles how to best get out of the camp unseen, and then find the way to the hut.


	12. Chapter 12

A waning half moon offered enough light for the three men to find their way to the small hut later that night. They arrived one by one; first Hawkeye, then B.J. stepped in a moment later and sat down on the narrow bed next to Hawkeye. A few minutes passed, and Hawkeye started to get fidgety.

“Do you think he chickened out?” Hawkeye questioned when Charles failed to turn up within the next five minutes.

“It's possible, but I doubt it. Maybe we should look for him?”

At that moment the curtain, which served as a door, was pushed aside, and Charles' head appeared around it.

“Fashionably late, Charles,” Hawkeye teased to distract from his relief that the time for waiting was over.

“Explain that to the fashion catastrophe called Maxwell Klinger. Unfortunately I ran into him and had to take a detour via the latrines so as to not arouse any suspicion.”

“Never mind, you're here now.” B.J. said calmly.

Having closed the curtain behind himself, Charles studied the hut. It contained the bare necessities when it came to furniture and lacked even those when it came to decoration.

“Make yourself comfortable, Chuck.”

“Ah, I'd be a happier man if you could refrain from calling me that -” he hesitated before adding, “B.J.” He pulled a chair out from the tiny table and sat down, though.

“Charlie?” B.J. tried, but the look on Charles' face stated he wasn't any happier with that. “No? OK, as you like. Charles it is.”

“Thank you.”

“Might I point out we didn't come out here to talk?”

“Then why don't you shut me up?”

Hawkeye clamped a hand over B.J.'s mouth for a moment. “Nope, doesn't really do it for me.” He let go of B.J. who was shaking with quiet laughter. Even Charles looked amused.

“How about this, then?” B.J. leaned over and kissed Hawkeye passionately until they were both out of breath.

“Yeah, better. Not quite what I had in mind yet, but better.” He took a deep breath. “Want to try again?” He didn't wait for B.J.'s reply but straddled his friend's lap and started an assault on his mouth.

Charles watched quietly, not daring to disturb them.

B.J.'s hands found their way under Hawkeye's t-shirt and pushed it up as he rubbed his friend's back. Hawkeye leaned back enough for B.J. to raise it further and, lifting his arms above his head, let him remove it completely before continuing the kissing as if he'd only come up for air.

As B.J.'s shoulders were leaning against the wall, and he had Hawkeye's weight on top of him, he stood no chance of getting out of his shirt; nor any other piece of clothing for that matter. But he seemed content with kissing and touching for a while.

It was Hawkeye's initiative that took things further. He slid off B.J.'s lap and stood to push his pants down. His eyes never left B.J.'s. Either he had forgotten about Charles or he very pointedly forced himself to ignore him.

B.J. watched as Hawkeye stripped down and finally he pushed himself off the wall so he could pull off his own shirt. Then he was on his knees in front of Hawkeye and nuzzled his crotch through the green army shorts. Hawkeye wanted to push them down, too, but B.J. stopped him. “Not yet.”

Hawkeye mumbled something under his breath that sounded like a complaint, but it quickly turned into a moan as B.J. leaned forward again and traced the outline of Hawkeye's cock with his mouth.

Charles couldn't make out any details from his position, but he didn't dare move his chair, afraid to break the spell. But what he heard and saw was enough for his imagination to kick in and fill the gaps. That, in turn, was enough to make his own cock grow hard. He was used to restraining himself, though, and sat utterly still.

Hawkeye pulled B.J. to his feet so he could open his friend's pants and slide a hand in. B.J. pulled him up close and slipped one of his own hands between them as well, then leaned down and kissed Hawkeye.

But after a moment Hawkeye pulled away. “I can't do this,” he stated. “Being watched is just wrong for me.” Before either of the other men could react to this statement, Hawkeye had crossed over to where Charles sat and held out a hand to him. “I think you'll have to join us.”

Charles stared up at the nearly naked man for a moment, stupefied, then he accepted the hand and let himself be pulled up and closer to the bed in the corner.

“My, Charles, I seems it was high time we included you,” B.J. stated as he noticed the bulge in Charles' pants. He exchanged a quick glance with Hawkeye and reached for the buttons on Charles' shirt. Hawkeye pulled it off the moment B.J. was done with the buttons. Charles offered no resistance, neither to being undressed, nor to B.J. stepping right up to him to kiss him.

Hawkeye hummed with approval and slid up to them. B.J. automatically wrapped an arm around him and Hawkeye reciprocated, then slid his other arm around Charles' waist. 

B.J. turned his head to kiss Hawkeye, but he held onto Charles with his other hand.

Hawkeye hummed into the kiss while his fingers found B.J.'s behind Charles' back, trapping him in their embrace. Not that Charles seemed likely to run screaming. Instead he reached out for the two men now, returning the embrace.

When he felt Charles' arm slide around him, Hawkeye turned to face him and leaned in for a kiss. His fingers let go of B.J.'s and found their way into Charles' waistband, clearly to Charles' surprise as he gasped against Hawkeye's mouth.

B.J. watched them kiss, then he slid his hand from Charles' back to the front and let it trail down to his crotch. He let it lie there. Separated from Charles' cock by two layers of cloth, he could still sense the heat emanating from it.

Charles relaxed more and more with every touch and every kiss, as if his tight self-control was stripped away layer by layer. Maybe it was, maybe he just allowed it to slip away, he wasn't sure. But the reason didn't matter, the fact that it happened was enough. His hand found B.J.'s and guided it into a gentle rubbing motion that felt just right.

Hawkeye had sensed the shift in position and looked on curiously as Charles stood there, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. It seemed the most vulnerable he'd ever seen him. He stepped behind B.J. and slid his pants down. He pressed up close to B.J.'s back and rubbed up against him. B.J. moaned a little, which made Charles open his eyes again and take in the two men before him.

He reached out his free hand to B.J.'s crotch and covered B.J.'s cock with it. It was Hawkeye's hand, though, that covered it and guided it into the right motion.

B.J.'s head fell back and he leant it against the side of Hawkeye's, giving in to the stimulation the other two were administering. Charles still guided one of his hands while B.J.'s other hung limply at his side, now that Hawkeye had stepped out of his embrace.

They kept going like this for a while until B.J. pushed their hands away and took a shuddering breath before he lifted his head up. “I'd rather not come in my shorts.”

“That can be helped.” Hawkeye simply stripped them off his friend.

“One of us is certainly overdressed now,” B.J. stated as he stepped out of his shorts. He pulled his hand from Charles' crotch and reached for his belt instead. When he pushed Charles' pants and shorts down in one swift move, Charles sighed. It was only now that the clothes were gone, that he realized how restricting they'd been.

Hawkeye had stepped out of his own shorts by then, too. “So, who actually owes who a blowjob now?”

Charles automatically opened his mouth to correct Hawkeye's grammar, but B.J. spoke up before he could.

“Owe? No one, I think. But I sure would like one now,” B.J. stated, still rock-hard from the stimulation he had received mere moments ago.

Hawkeye pushed him back to the bed. “That can be helped, I think.” But he stopped B.J. from sitting down and motioned for Charles to join them.

“I think we need to change our tactics, now that it's no longer just the two of us. Take a seat, Charles.”

Charles raised a questioning eyebrow, but did as he was told and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“No, not like that. Further back, so Beej can sit in front of you.”

Charles seemed puzzled, but B.J. nodded. “I think I know what you're up to. Just move further up the bed, Charles.”

Charles did and B.J. pushed his legs apart so he could position himself between them. “Ah,” Charles said and wrapped an arm around B.J. while steadying himself with the other.

“Yeah, that's better,” Hawkeye declared and went down on his knees in front of them on the bed. It meant he had to lean not only forward but also down, but kneeling on the bed in that position was preferable to kneeling on the hard wooden floor. As B.J. was still hard, he got right down to business.

B.J. soon started to moan as Hawkeye licked, lightly sucked, and teased his cock with his teeth. Charles started to stroke B.J's chest and stomach and B.J. let his head fall back against his shoulder.

He came without much noise, just a shuddered breath and some heavy breathing. Hawkeye sat up and took in the sight before him while he licked his lips. He smiled. It was not a sight he had expected to ever envision, but now that he did, he found he actually liked it.

B.J.'s eye opened and looked at Hawkeye, then he twisted his neck and looked up at Charles who still caressed his chest in small soothing circles.

They stayed like that for a few minutes until B.J. had recovered. Then it was Charles who spoke up. “I think it's Pierce's turn now. As neither of you won the bet, you deserve to 'suffer' the same fate.” There was a glint in his eye as he said 'suffer'.

Hawkeye looked at B.J., to see if he was ready to return the favor, but Charles gently pushed B.J. up and worked himself out from underneath him so he could get up. “Move up the bed, if you please, B.J.”

The other two looked at him in surprise, but B.J. complied and Hawkeye's questioning gesture at himself and then the spot between B.J.'s legs was answered with a nod by Charles.

With a grin, Hawkeye made himself comfortable in his friend's arms and spread his legs. Charles climbed onto the other end of the bed now. “I should warn you, it's been years since I last did this.”

Hawkeye glared at him but then shrugged. “Beej had never done it at all until a few months ago. You'll do.” His nonchalance turned into a grin.

Watching Charles' head bob up and down between his legs was just as much a turn on for Hawkeye as the reason for the bobbing. It might have been years since Charles last gave anyone head, but that didn't mean he wasn't good at it. Hawkeye came with a grunt, his hands clawing into the bed sheet while Charles swallowed hard.

When he finally sat up, Charles looked pleased, not with himself as such, but with the result he had achieved. 

“Damn, I think I won that bet after all,” Hawkeye managed to say between gasps for air.

Charles chuckled. “Let's just say it took the powers that be a while to catch up on what the Bostonian teenager was up to with his friend.”

B.J. nuzzled Hawkeye's ear. “Should I find out about that, too?”

Hawkeye grinned stupidly. “Definitely. You might yet learn something.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” B.J. said, “but for now I think I owe the former Bostonian teenager one blowjob of my current skill level?”

Charles opened his mouth to protest that it wasn't necessary, but changed his mind and nodded.

“Sit up, Hawk.” B.J. lightly slapped his friend's side.

They again swapped positions, with Charles leaning on Hawkeye while B.J. climbed onto the bed in front of them. Now that they had established this positioning worked for them, they didn't have to discuss it any longer.

Hawkeye had managed to position himself so far up the bed he could lean on the wall and thus wrap both arms around Charles, who was still supporting himself on his elbows so far. Hawkeye pulled until Charles leaned back against his chest. He was a lot heavier than B.J., but in this position, Hawkeye could support him for a good while.

B.J. watched as the other two got comfortable, then leaned forward but looked up again with a deadpan face. “I hope you won't be disappointed, Charles, if I still have so much to learn.”

Hawkeye tried to give him a light smack but couldn't reach far enough down. Instead his hand was caught by Charles and pulled back onto the Bostonian's broad chest.

“As Pierce said earlier: 'You'll do.'”

B.J. grinned and leaned down to lick along Charles' cock once, twice, before taking it in his mouth. And he didn't do too badly indeed, for it didn't take long until Charles came, even quieter than B.J. himself had done. Some of that self-restraint was still in place after all.

There was an awkward moment afterward when neither wanted to be the first to get up and dress, but didn't want to fall asleep there, either. They silently sat on the bed, side by side.

“We should get back to camp,” B.J. finally said.

“Yeah.” Hawkeye confirmed, but didn't budge. 

“I take it we should do the return trip alone, too?”

“Yup, safer that way,” B.J. confirmed. 

“We should have brought our coats, then we might all have come from the ward where we checked up on a patient,” Charles mused.

“Nah, there'd have to be proof of that on the charts. Also the duty nurse would know if we'd been there. The more of us make it back unnoticed, the better. One can always have had some sort of business around the camp, but not the three of us.”

“I gather you've had sufficient occasion to work this out.”

“You'll quickly get the hang of it, too,” Hawkeye stated, prompting Charles to look at him.

“Pierce – are you saying you want to include me again?”

Hawkeye grinned. “Sure, you can teach Beej some of your technique!”

B.J. stuck his tongue out at Hawkeye but wrapped an arm around Charles' shoulders. “You're welcome to join us again – if you want to.”

“I think I'd quite enjoy that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dear rosied, you were curious how Hawkeye and B.J. would come to see Charles as a lover rather than an adversary. I very much hope you enjoyed my approach. It's been fun to write and hopefully you had fun reading it, too.


End file.
